


Lighthouse 709 - Budlemere

by creaturacarissime (sleepyowlet)



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Gen, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Original Fiction, With A Twist, town with a secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyowlet/pseuds/creaturacarissime
Summary: The Council Hall bell must ring one hour after noon and midnight, the Budletree must be tended, and the lighthouse must have a keeper.Budlemere is just a sleepy little place at the coast of northern England.Or is it?





	Lighthouse 709 - Budlemere

**Author's Note:**

> Forty-odd pages and it took me almost 4 years to write. I'm pathetic.
> 
> This is the first in a series of short stories centred around the village Budlemere and its lighthouse. It pretty much counts as original fiction; I'm just putting it here because I don't trust publishing sites.
> 
> Concrit welcome, and if you spot spelling, wording, or grammar goofs, please let me know!

 

****

 

**Lighthouse 709 - Budlemere**

 

The mayor’s handshake was warm and a little moist. “Welcome to Budlemere, Miss Phelbs,” he rumbled, pumping her hand vigorously, the movement straining the hard-working buttons of his tweed suit even more.

Susan tried to turn her grimace into a smile. “Thank you, Mister Atwood. It does look like a lovely place."

That much was true. Budlemere seemed like one of those sleepy places, where everyone went to bed an hour after dark, and everyone knew what their neighbour had for breakfast; this was something very familiar to Susan since she had grown up in a place just like it. The village huddled in a dell behind the cliffs as if to seek shelter from the constant brisk winds coming in from the sea, small and quaint with old, slightly lopsided houses and narrow, crooked streets.

“I’ll show you the lighthouse. Please, come along,” the mayor said boisterously, and off they went, along a winding path leading through coarse grass and copses of gnarled trees, twisted by the wind. Susan took deep breaths of the salty air and smiled; she had missed this, in the years she spent trying to make a living in various cities. In the end she had realised that maybe this kind of life, the life her ambitious parents had wanted for her - go to university, get a degree, but one that’s useful (she had), find a good job, work hard (she had), be successful (that she hadn’t been) find a nice man to marry and have kids with (she hadn’t managed to do that either) - was a kind of life that just wasn’t meant for her.

When was the last time I’ve been happy, she asked herself; and an almost forgotten image had appeared in her mind, of herself walking the coast with her grandfather, helping him clean and adjust the mirrors and lenses of the lighthouse he kept. She had spent the summer with him almost every year as long as he had been alive, and it had always been magical.

Lighthouse 709 was old, squat, and rather small. It made sense, Susan thought, it stood on top of a cliff, no need to built it any taller. The red and white paint shone brightly in the sun; it looked...friendly.

The mayor next to her huffed and puffed in exertion. “It’s quite a walk, isn’t it? There is a bike you can use for trips to the village,” he dropped heavily on a bench next to the tower entrance and mopped the sweat off his head with a checkered handkerchief. “We can go up in a moment, just let me catch my breath for a bit. Why don’t you look around a little in the meantime?”

Susan nodded and ambled off, intent on circling the structure to see what else might be there. She found a few sea-buckthorn shrubs and a huge, red tabby cat, which chirped at her questioningly, rubbed against her legs, and accompanied her back to the mayor who produced an old brass key from his pocket and unlocked the door. “First level is for storage, no windows, there isn’t much else you can do with it. Second level holds the bathroom and the oil tank. Third level, kitchen and living room,” he explained as they went, “Bedroom is upstairs, above that is the watch-room with the supplies you need. Right,” Breathing heavily he placed a folder on the small table near the oven. “The contract. It’s what we discussed, but please feel free to check if everything’s in order.”

Sitting in one of the three worn chairs, Susan did just that. Her salary was quite low, but since she didn’t have any housing expenses, she’d be quite comfortable. When she was finished reading, she looked up questioningly. “And I keep the light running? That’s it? No tours for tourists or anything like that? Just changing the bulbs and cleaning the lenses and windows?”

Atwood chuckled and shook his head. “No, nothing like that, there are hardly any tourists in Budlemere. We are just fond of our traditions, and the lighthouse is one of them. The Council Hall bell must ring one hour after noon and midnight, the Budletree must be tended, and the lighthouse must have a keeper.”

All right, if they want it that way and were willing and able to pay, she wouldn’t argue; she didn’t intend to look a gift horse in the mouth. Everything was as they had discussed, indeed; she frowned in confusion about a non-disclosure agreement but shrugged it off. “Well, everything seems to be in order,” she said, reaching for the pen Atwood offered her and signed the contract in dark green ink. Atwood added his own signature and took one copy with him as he left.

Susan decided to check on the light first, making her way up the rest of the tower on a cast-iron spiral staircase. There it was, in the middle of the room, the light, which would send two beams into the night. It was set between two huge, circular lenses, one yellowish, one bright green. As Susan studied the array, she noticed that the angles seemed a bit...off. She had cleaned the Fresnel lenses in her grandfather’s lighthouse often enough to know what they ought to look like, and this wasn’t exactly it. Shrugging it off, she opened the door to the main gallery running around the tower. It wasn’t as if the lighthouse was actually needed for navigation anymore, she thought, so who cared if the lenses didn’t operate with maximum efficiency? It seemed to have done its job well enough for quite some time.

Something touched her shin as she leaned against the iron rail, staring at the horizon. Looking down, she saw the red cat. “So you want to keep me company, hm?” she smiled and picked it up. “I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

The cat butted her chin with its head and purred.

“You know, I think I’m really going to like it here. I’ve got a good feeling about this place.”

…

  


It took her a few days to get settled. A local lad named Tom had helped her get the boxes with her belongings to the lighthouse and up the stairs, and she had explored what the last keeper had left behind while she found places for her own stuff. Apparently, the old man didn’t have any family, so he had left much of what he had owned to the next keeper when he moved to a nursing home. Strange, but hardly worrying. “Seems like he really liked to read, and quite interesting stuff too,” Susan told the cat, which was probably her cat now. At least he ate the cat food she fed him, slept in her bed, and came running when she called the name she’d given him. “There’s barely any space on the shelves for mine...was that the door? Let’s go look.”

It had been, indeed, the door; because when she opened it, she saw two completely identical girls standing outside. “Hello,” they said in unison, their faces serious.

Wondering what could be wrong, Susan said hello back. Then, “Is there something I can help you with?”

One of the girls pressed a bowl into Susan’s hands. It was covered with a kitchen towel, but if her nose was right, there were fresh ginger biscuits underneath. A ginger biscuit emergency? A ginger biscuit accident? Or perhaps a ginger biscuit tragedy?

“Margaret made them, she is our housekeeper. I’m Janette Combs, and this is my sister Janice. We live in Cliff House. Will you let us up to the gallery to watch for ships? Mister McCallum, the old keeper, he let us do that if we brought him biscuits,” one of the girls said, her face still solemn.

“Well, I was going to wash the windows later, they need a good scrubbing. No reason why I can’t do that now; you can come up while I do that,” Susan decided, it should be fine this once, she’d check with the girl’s parents later. They seemed to be about twelve, so it shouldn’t be a problem (she had the complete run of her grandfather’s lighthouse at that age), but it was better to be safe than sorry.

The girls nodded earnestly and followed her upstairs. They hadn’t cracked a single smile, Susan wondered but took it in stride. Children could be rather strange. They left the biscuits in the kitchen, and Susan filled a bucket with water and soap. The girls crossed the lightroom quickly, giving the lenses a wide berth, which made Susan smile. It wasn’t as if they could really break those massive lenses by merely touching them.

Susan got to work, occasionally glancing at her guests. But she needn’t have worried, the twins just stood close to the railing, taking turns gazing through an elaborate brass telescope, occasionally pointing and whispering, with the wind blowing their ginger hair this way and that. One of them (was it Janette? No, Janice was the one with the bag, Janette had carried the biscuits) made notes in a little book. The water was getting cold and dirty, freezing Susan’s hands. It was a sunny day, but a stiff breeze had her shivering in spite of the sun. “How about a break? We can have a cup of tea and the biscuits you brought,” she called to the girls, who merely nodded and followed her inside.

The biscuits were heavenly, and so was wrapping her hands around a mug of hot tea. Janice sipped her tea and was silent, Janette munched a biscuit or two and answered Susan’s questions, asking some of her own in return. They lived in the big, grey country home that was visible from the top of the lighthouse with their older brother and their housekeeper, Margaret, baker of biscuits and lover of cats. They didn’t attend a local school since the closest was too far away to be practical, and they definitely didn’t want to go away to a boarding school; so their brother taught them at home. And they were obsessed with pirates. Not only the famous seventeenth-century British ones, all of them; from Ancient Rome to modern-day Somalia.

The windows were finished shortly before sundown, which was when the twins politely said their goodbyes and went home. Susan put away the cleaning supplies and switched on the lights, smiling at the familiar hum of the machines. Yellow and green light danced out into the growing darkness, guiding whomever it may guide.

…

What an ominous old pile, Susan thought as she knocked at the door of Cliff House. It was a strange thing, its shape changing from every angle one looked at it. It was a lovely sunny morning, but the friendly sunlight did nothing to make the house more welcoming; it remained dark and unpleasant. The forbidding exterior of the building and the memory of the unsmiling twins made Susan a bit apprehensive about meeting their older brother. She definitely didn’t look forward to having to explain why she had let the girls play on the top of the tower…

The door suddenly opened, startling Susan from her thoughts. “Oh, hello, dear. You’re the new lighthouse keeper, yes? Janette and Janice told me about you. It’s good you’re here, the lighthouse really needed a new keeper. Come in, come in! I’m Martha, the housekeeper.”

Muttering a quiet greeting back, Susan followed Martha into the hall. There were all kinds of taxidermied sea creatures mounted on the walls, one stranger than the next, and not only in the hall; the little drawing-room Martha led her to had them too.

“Have a seat, dear, I’ll get you a cup of tea,” Martha chirped and hurried away, not even asking why she’d come.

There was a lovely plush rug on the floor, and the windows were inlaid with stained glass in green and yellow. The patterns were intricate and lovely to look at - only they seemed to warp and shift at the edges of Susan’s vision. After a couple of moments enduring that undulating weirdness, she got up and faced a needle-toothed fish on the wall opposite the door.

“Will he tear off my head, what do you reckon?” she asked it.

“Will who tear off your head for what?” came a voice from behind her.

Susan whirled around, startled. Ah, that must be the brother, she thought, same red hair and freckles, same lanky built. The expression on his face was curious and friendly, which made her relax a bit. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Uhm, hello, I’m Susan Phelbs, the lighthouse keeper. I thought I’d come over and introduce myself since we’re neighbours. Well, sort of.”

“Oh, right! Good to meet you. I’m James Coombs. Just Jamie, really,” he replied, holding out a hand for Susan to shake, which she did.

They went to sit down, and Martha appeared shortly with tea and more of her wonderful biscuits.

“So, what was that about tearing off heads?” her host asked after Susan had taken a sip from her cup.

“Ah, well, Janette and Janice came to visit me yesterday, wanting to watch for ships from the main gallery of the lighthouse. I let them, but I was with them the whole time. I hope that was all right?” Susan replied, grimacing a little.

Jamie shrugged. “Oh, that’s quite all right. They are very sensible, they won’t get up to any mischief even if you leave them alone up there. Just be sure to send them home before you switch on the light if you don’t mind them visiting, that is.”

“No, having some company is nice. It’s just me and my cat otherwise,” Susan hurriedly reassured him. Serious as they were, she liked them. Not quite knowing what to do or say next, her gaze wandered over the fish decorating the walls.

“Do you like them? My hobby, studying marine animals. Sometimes I find a dead one that looks interesting, so I take it home and preserve it,” Jamie explained the oddities.

“Right. So you made these yourself? All of them?” Susan asked, getting up and walking over to the toothsome fish she had attempted conversation with earlier.

Jamie joined her. “No, not all of them. That one? Yes. A seadevil, lovely specimen. Would you like to see how it’s done?”

He looked so hopeful, Susan didn’t have the heart to say no. “Sure, why not?”

Shooting her a bright, lopsided grin, Jamie led her up the big staircase in the hall and down a dark corridor only dimly lit by green lamps in the shape of various sea creatures. “Martha banished me here, said she doesn’t want my chemicals stinking up the whole house,” he explained, opening a door at the very end.

It was obviously an attic room, which Susan found a little surprising, given the fact that they were only on the second floor of a hulking monster of a house. There was only one small roof window letting in light, so Jamie had to switch on the light for her to see the contents of the room properly.

There were shelves lining the walls, filled with canisters and huge glasses, some of them empty, some of them...not. In the middle of the room stood a working table with a stainless steel surface on which a squid was laid out. The mix of its fishy smell and the vapours of various chemicals made Susan a bit nauseated, so she took a step back towards the window Jamie had opened.

“Those are usually either preserved by wet taxidermy or by drying. I’m developing a method right now that will allow me to preserve it as it is without it hanging in a jar. Essentially I’m trying to saturate the water it’s holding with silicone derivatives...it’s a bit tricky, and I’m not quite sure how to do it yet,” he shrugged, “I’ll figure it out sooner or later.” Jamie kept up a running commentary as he swiftly disembowelled and cleaned the dead animal and then dunked it into a container with a mysterious blue liquid.

Susan perched herself on a stool and watched him work. Some would find what he did weird and disgusting, but she’d watched her grandfather cut up more than one fresh fish for dinner - and those had still _twitched_. Jamie kept on telling her what he was doing - but his explanations of saturation levels and chemical formulas went right over Susan’s head. She had a degree in economics, not in chemistry. His obvious enthusiasm was just endearing and fun to watch. Now and again he would prompt her to tell him a bit about herself, so she would, talking about her grandfather, and the sea animals she’d seen when he had taken her out on his little boat.

“Oh dear, it’s getting dark outside,” Jamie interrupted himself sheepishly.

Indeed, it was. “I’ve got the light on a timer, it should already be on. But I suppose I should get myself home to check if everything’s in order.” The time switch had already been there, and she used it whenever she left the lighthouse. Only when she was there for sundown would she switch it on by hand for the sake of sentimentality.

Jamie started to put away his tools and materials. “I’ll accompany you on your way back. The path can be treacherous in the dark. And the tide is receding, maybe I’ll find something interesting on my way home. Go on, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

On her way downstairs Susan ran into Janice, who asked her if she and her sister might come for another visit soon, which Susan readily agreed to. She said her goodbyes to Martha, and then Jamie joined her carrying a leather knapsack. The coast looked quite different in the dark, the winding path to the lighthouse was barely visible in the shadow of the trees surrounding Cliff House.

“Do Janice and Janette ever see other children?” Susan finally asked after some deliberation.

“They could, if they wanted to, there are some families with children down in Budlemere. But they seem to prefer their own company, and I don’t see any reason why I should make them socialise when they obviously don’t want to,” Jamie replied thoughtfully. “Why, do you think I should?”

“Well, that depends on if they genuinely want to be left alone, or if they are too shy to strike up friendships with other children,” Susan answered after a while, her eyes on the path before her. “But considering they didn’t have any compunctions about showing up at my door with a bowl of biscuits and a request, I don’t think that’s the case. So no, I think it’s best to just leave them be.”

Jamie was silent for a moment, then asked, “Did you have many friends as a child?”

“No,” Susan replied, shaking her head. “I didn’t. A couple of playmates, but no-one you’d actually call a friend. Then I moved to the city to study economics and pretty much lost contact with everyone. And in the last couple of years...I’m just glad that I’ve found a way to get away from it all. So far I really like it here.” They walked on silently for a moment. “Have you always lived in Budlemere?”

“No, we moved here shortly after the twins were born, before that my parents and I lived in Singapore if you can believe it. That’s where most of my tropical fish come from, I still have contacts there. One of them sent me a Coelacanth a year ago - those are incredibly rare. And a very old species,” Jamie replied, and Susan had to smile at the turn their conversation was taking back to his favourite topic.

Jamie ducked his head and winced. “Sorry. We don’t need to talk about fish again. In the future, please feel free to interrupt me. I’m aware of my failings as a conversational partner.”

How many people had done just that, Susan wondered, frowning at the thought. How many people had scoffed at his vocal love for all things aquatic? “Everyone likes to talk about the things they love,” she said. “And I like the sea and everything in it quite a bit, even if I’m not very knowledgeable.”

They arrived at the lighthouse soon after. The time switch had worked like a charm, so there was no need for Susan to hurry up and take care of things. Jamie nervously scratched the back of his neck, finally producing a medium-sized glass jar with a jellyfish suspended in a liquid inside. “It’s bioluminescent, so it’ll glow blue in the dark. Maybe you can use it as a night-light? I just thought you might like a housewarming gift. And a thank-you for letting me carry on about fish all afternoon.”

Susan couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face as she accepted the jar. “That’s very thoughtful of you, thank you. It’s pretty.” And it was, all delicate gossamer tentacles under a wide transparent cap.

Jamie seemed relieved and turned to make his way home with a quick goodbye.

Mister Spriggles greeted her with a loud purr and a few butts of his massive head, and Susan bent down to pick him up when she had closed the door behind her. “Yes, dinnertime you glutton. Nope,” she held the jar with the jelly out of his reach. “Not that. Regular cat-food, I’m afraid.”

After feeding her cat, Susan went through her living quarters looking for a place to put Jamie’s gift. Bedside table and on top of a shelf were out, Mister Spriggles might push it over the edge. That left the bookshelf…

She went to one she had barely touched, full of nautical manuals Mister McCallum had left behind. Grabbing a few of those at eye-height she made a space for the glass jar. “Oh? What do we have here?” Susan muttered as she discovered something hidden behind the row of books. It was a journal, dusty and faded. The jar fit into the gap just fine, so Susan put it there and turned her attention to her find.

It was a journal Mister McCallum had kept of his time as a keeper. Leafing through it Susan noticed that the entries started 1962 and were irregular; obviously McCallum had only recorded noteworthy things. Susan shrugged and put it away; maybe she’d read it sometime.

…

  


She had run low on just about everything, so Susan decided that a trip to the village was in order, so she mounted the rickety bike that had come with the lighthouse and made her way down to Budlemere. The village square was pretty and neatly kept, and was surrounded by the most important buildings; the Council Hall, the grocery shop, Doctor Ibbott’s medical practice, and the local pub, a stout building with the unlikely name of “The Grumpy Herring”. A rather rank smell emanated from it, seemed like the owner had opened the brewing coppers today. Tom had waxed poetic about the beer made here, and Susan had to admit that she was looking forward to trying it.

But shopping first.

She entered Rose Helby’s shop, grabbed a basket and started filling it with the things she needed.

“Oh, don’t bother, dearie, I’ve already packed everything for you,” came the chirpy voice of the proprietor from somewhere in the direction of the counter.

What?

Susan blinked and went over to the counter. Maybe Rose had taken note of what she had bought last time? “I also need…”

“A bar of olive-oil soap. Yes, it’s in here,” the shopkeeper interrupted her, pointing to a big brown paper carrier bag.

“And…”

“A pair of wellies, size four. And cat food.”

How the hell had Rose known about the wellies?

Rose had noticed Susan’s confused expression. “I saw the holes in your old pair, dear. Figured you’d need new ones. For food, I packed you a few preserves and other things that keep, since you prefer to buy your fish and meat fresh.”

“All right,” Susan replied somewhat nonplussed, handing over the money and accepting her purchases. “Thank you. Have a lovely day!” Now that had been strange, Susan thought as she left the shop. But realising that Rose had probably just talked to the butcher and Mrs. Lumley, who sold in the morning what her husband caught in the wee hours, she put it out of her mind.

She went on to the butcher and the baker and was about to pass by the Grumpy Herring on her bike, waving a greeting to the proprietor who was watering the flowers on the windowsills, when said proprietor beckoned her to come over.

“I just finished some squid in cream sauce, and it came out really well. Perhaps you’d like some?” she asked with a friendly smile.

It was about noon, and Susan did feel quite peckish. “Yes, why not,” she replied, getting off her bike and leaning it against the whitewashed wall. Seemed like she would get to satisfy her curiosity about the beer sooner rather than later. “I’d love some, Ms Smith.”

“Call me Molly, dear, everyone does,” came the reply as Susan was led inside. The interior was dim, the small windows didn’t let in much light, and furnished with dark wood and intricate old brass lamps with green glass shades. Wooden signs proclaimed what was on offer and the prices, which were quite reasonable.

Molly went off into the kitchen to get Susan’s order, leaving her to take a closer look at the paintings decorating the walls. They were landscapes, mostly, darkened by age and the pub-air, but still quite interesting to look at with her lighthouse featuring in many of them.

She was soon joined by Mayor Atwood and a police officer he introduced as Constable Sujata Kaur, a friendly looking, short woman in her late thirties. A couple of minutes later three other office workers settled at their table too, Mister Gladstone the postmaster, a rather faded looking man with luminous, pale eyes; Miss Rivers, the archivist, a lively young woman who seemed to be perpetually in motion; and Mister Fenwick, a quiet young man in charge of the land registry.

There were polite queries about how she was settling in, to which Susan replied that she was doing quite well, the village was just lovely, and the people very welcoming. The conversation shifted to community gossip after that. Atwood talked about a neighbourly dispute that just about drove him around the bend, to which Constable Kaur just wearily nodded along, then added that she was just about done with being called in the middle of the night over nothing. An elderly woman relieving herself in the garden at night was hardly a reason to call the police, no?

Molly brought their food and drinks and stayed for a moment to talk about the upcoming Halloween festivities. Susan discovered that the people of Budlemere liked their equinoctes better than their solstices and went all out at those rather than at Christmas and Midsummer.

The food was delicious as was the beer, which came in uniquely shaped, handmade green glasses that made Susan’s half-pint of Budlemere Bitter shine like green amber. When everybody was finished and about to go back to work Susan was invited to join them in the pub Saturday evening for a couple of pints.

On her way home, she ran into the local doctor, who invited her to come around for a general check-up, since apparently her last one had been quite some time ago. Susan nodded uneasily, since she really didn’t like doctors (there had been a very inept pediatric in her childhood who had soured her outlook forever), and immediately decided to procrastinate as long as possible.

…

  


Janice and Janette had visited again, watching the sea through their old brass telescope, and regaling Susan with tales of the probably most successful pirate in history, a Chinese woman who went by Ching Shih.

Now she was on the main gallery with a cup of tea, watching the sunset, the light running in soothing intervals behind her. She’d never get tired of that view; the sky awash with orange and red, the waves glittering in the fading light. The seagulls made their way home to their nests below the cliffs beneath the lighthouse, their shrill cries fading bit by bit. Susan was always careful to never let small things lying around in the open; those cheeky creatures would steal everything that wasn’t nailed down.

She smiled and closed her eyes, feeling utterly at peace. That was, of course, when the serenity of the moment was interrupted by the _Imperial March_ blaring out of her pocket.

Groaning to herself she fished out her mobile and answered the call. “Hi, mum.”

“Hello, sweetie, how are you?”

Susan cringed. The cheer in her mother’s voice was utterly fake. It was going to be one of _those_ calls. “I’m fine, mum,” she replied guardedly, “How are you and dad?”

The voice on the other end started to tremble a little. “Oh, everything’s fine, we just worry about you.”

God, not again. “Mum, we’ve talked about this. There is no reason for you to worry, I’m happy here.”

“We just want to know what happened! You had a good job, a career!”

Susan resisted the impulse to throw her phone over the railing into the frothing sea. “Nothing happened. I just realised that this isn’t something I want to do for the rest of my life.”

“Was it a man, dear? Did someone break your heart?”

“No, mum. I was tired of working in a snake-pit. Here I’ve got friendly, honest people around me who welcomed me, and who I’m comfortable with,” Susan tried to explain - not for the first time.

“Then why did you get that degree at all? This is not what your father and I wanted for you. Why do you simply throw away the…”

Susan held the phone away from her ear and stared out into the growing darkness while her oblivious mother nattered on. It wasn’t as if she’d miss anything important.

Suddenly the gulls that had settled down to sleep on the beach were shrieking again, and Susan tried to find the source of their complaining. Was that movement? Susan narrowed her eyes. Yes. Something was moving up the beach. Soon it was crawling up the face of the cliff and she could make out the general shape and some details.

And wished she couldn’t.

Because the hulking thing that was slowly crawling into the direction of the village was beyond anything she had ever seen. There were unblinking eyes scattered seemingly at random over a teeming mass of writhing tentacles and other appendages that seemed to have no use at all - at least none that she could discern. She could hear it now too; a rhythmic sucking and squishing sound, wet and revolting. It passed the lighthouse at some distance, and Susan had the distinct feeling that its attention was on her for a moment that seemed to last an eternity.

Then it passed her by and continued on towards Budlemere.

Some time later Susan found herself in the light-room, huddled against the pedestal containing the motor, shivering, the phone still in her hand. A look told her that the call had been disconnected half an hour before. Slowly she got to her feet and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Tea would help. Tea always helped.

It occurred to her as she filled the kettle with hot water that she should perhaps call someone. She dialled Constable Kaur, who answered after the third ring.

“Hello, Constable,” Susan greeted her, “This is Susan Phelbs. I just wanted to know, is everything alright in the village?”

There was a short pause before Constable Kaur answered. “Yes, why wouldn’t it be? Is there something you’d like to call in?”

Susan opened her mouth to reply but hesitated. What was she supposed to tell her? That she’d seen a monster crawl towards Budlemere half an hour ago? Biting her lip she asked herself if she’d seen one at all. Maybe it was just some weird shadow, a shrub looking strange in the dusk? “No, I just wanted to check. There might be some nasty weather coming in later.”

“Oh, thanks for the heads-up. A couple of us are heading to the Pub, would you like to come?”

Susan shook her head. “No, thank you, I just had a not so nice conversation on the phone, I’m not going to be good company tonight. Another time?” she added, hopefully.

“Sure. Try to have a nice evening anyway, and give Mr Spriggles a cuddle from me, yes?” Constable Kaur requested with a smile in her voice that made Susan grin at the phone too.

“Will do. And have fun. Bye!”

The policewoman returned the farewell and hung up, so Susan turned back to her tea. Had she seen what she’d seen? Probably not. The upsetting talk with her mother coupled with the strange light of dusk must have caused her brain to interpret something completely innocent as something monstrous. There was no such thing as monsters.

…

The Budlemerians, as it turned out, did go all out for Halloween. Rose was having a huge costume party in the Grumpy Herring, and basically the whole village had shown up. There were the usual witches and vampires, but also many costumes that seemed to have been inspired by maritime fauna and fairytale creatures. The children were having the time of their lives, marvelling over a huge batch of biscuits in strange shapes and colours Martha had volunteered, competing at the traditional activities that a couple of parents had set up in the village square. The Budletree was decorated in cobwebs and illuminated pumpkins (Tom Helby had been working on them all day and they were quite artistically done) as the centrepiece of the festivities.

Susan hadn’t planned on wearing a costume, but Janette and Janice had shown up in the early afternoon and declared that they were going as pirates, and as such, they needed a prisoner since they couldn’t carry around a treasure-chest all evening. They had brought cat and pumpkin shaped biscuits to help persuade her, so Susan hadn’t seen any reason to say no.

Their brother had begged off, apparently he didn’t like being in crowds or so Janette had informed her; so Susan took that as an added incentive to keep an eye on the twins during the festivities. They were having a ball, dragging Susan around, grabbing sweets where they were offered, and waving their cutlasses - even though those looked worryingly real.

Mayor Atwood wore a tuxedo and top-hat in which someone had cut holes through which variously coloured eyes peered out at everyone. Susan noticed that some of them even moved; she suspected mechatronics. Still, the effect was a little unsettling.

After some of Molly’s cheese and pumpkin soup, Janette and Janice decided to go home, since all the games had been played, the other children thoroughly bested, and all the sweets they could carry had been acquired. Susan brought them home and returned to the village to have another pint or two with Constable Kaur and Miss Rivers (who were a gorilla and a Banshee respectively).

“I’m from B-ham originally,” Constable Kaur replied when Susan asked her how she had ended up in Budlemere. “Still have extended family there. Went to the academy straight out of school, I’ve always wanted to be a policewoman. Can’t say my family was too happy about that.” She took a sip of her bitter. “But I was good at it. Really good.”

“Was?” Susan asked.

“Yes, was. You see, being a copper in B-ham has a way of eating you up, the city has been on its way down since Thatcher. You just see too much crap and you can’t do anything about it. Add to that the shit I got because I’m a woman and an Indian to boot. After a couple of years, I just...cracked. Asked for a transfer to somewhere nice and quiet. So here I am.” A soft smile appeared on her face, and her eyes flickered to the bustling owner of the pub. “And I really love it here.”

Susan bought the next round, and as she paid, something occurred to her. “What does Budlemere live off? If you don’t have any tourism, what’s the main income?” she asked when she was back at the table.

Miss Rivers shrugged. “We’ve got a couple of artisans, like Mr Blyth, the glassblower. Some commute to work in nearby towns. There are a couple of farmers too, and of course some fishing. We get by.”

Susan took a sip of her bitter and mulled that over while Constable Kaur and Miss Rivers started gossiping about Rose Helby again (apparently she had a new significant other). Budlemere showed none of the signs of growing poverty, other than most little communities during a recession. The young didn’t move away to find work, leaving just the pensioners behind. Shops and other local businesses flourished, and the communal spaces were kept in order. All this was more than a little unusual and went against pretty much every economic rule she had ever learned at university.

She was drawn to the improvised dance-floor by someone in the guise of a...Komodo Dragon? Susan shrugged and danced with various people until the costume contest winners were announced. To her astonishment the first prize, under much hullabaloo, went to a girl dressed as Sally from Tim Burton’s “Nightmare Before Christmas”, and not to Doctor Ibbott, who had shown up in a truly lifelike fish- or frogman costume, perfect down to the glistening green-grey skin and delicate webbing between fingers and toes.

It was past midnight now, and Susan yawned. Maybe it was time to go home. She quickly said her goodbyes and walked out into the brisk night air. The quiet after the celebration in the pub was soothing, and Susan took a deep breath and smiled. It had been lots of fun, but now she just wanted a cup of tea, a few cuddles from Mister Spriggles, and then her bed. The beer left her feeling pleasantly woozy, so she giggled to herself as she started her way home.

Budlemere looked peaceful in the dark. Dew had fallen, and everything glittered in the light of the streetlamps. As she passed Rose’s shop and looked towards the lighthouse, she noticed that fog was coming in from the sea, but it wasn’t yet thick enough to get lost in, so she wasn’t worried. It just softened the edges and made everything look a bit unreal.

A strange noise broke through the quiet. Susan stopped and listened into the dark.

There.

What was that? Sounded like something squishy followed by a...moan? And it came from Rose’s garden. Carefully Susan crept closer in case someone was in danger but trying to be stealthy in case they were just...busy.

But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she looked around the corner. It was the...thing. The same thing she’d seen (and heard) that evening when she was on the phone with her mother. And wrapped in its tentacles was Rose Helby. The strange thing was, she didn’t seem to be struggling - and was that one tentacle disappearing under her skirt?

The thing made some garbling, squelching sounds and Rose laughed, lovingly stroking one of the glistening appendages.

What was going on here? This thing, it had to be real! Susan could see it, hear it, even smell it (somewhat fishy, musky, and a bit rank), and it filled her with revulsion and dread. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she was feeling a bit lightheaded. That creature was just...wrong.

And was it just Rose and that one creature? Would it even be possible to keep something like that a secret in a village as small as Budlemere? Was the whole populace in on it? She needed answers.

Who would know but not be involved? Who would know about the last decades of Budlemere? McCallum had kept a journal, hadn’t he? Perhaps she would find something in it. That decision gave her the strength to turn away from the grotesque scene and quietly slip away, hurrying towards her lighthouse, a beacon calling her to safety in the thickening fog.

Susan felt quite calm and focussed this time around, perhaps it was because she had a goal? It was usually easier to deal with a horrible experience if one had something to do. So she made a cup of tea with only slightly trembling hands and dug out McCallum's journal, settling in her armchair to read.

  1. _02\. 1962_



_Lighthouse is in good shape, but strange. Green lights usually show the way to harbours. Quite irregular. Should make inquiries._

Susan had wondered about that too. It seemed strange that a light usually showing ships where to go would stand on top of a cliff. She turned a few pages.

  


  1. _06\. 1962_



_There’s something strange about this village. The fisherman brings home fish I’d never seen before. Looked them up in the library - they really shouldn’t exist in the North Sea._

Okay, that explained why Jamie and his sisters lived here. A few entries about strange weather phenomena followed. Then:

  1. _02\. 1963_



_The village square was awash in blood this morning. Lily Helby claimed that a polecat must have gotten into her chicken coop. Didn’t see any dead chicken, however, the coop was empty. But nobody seems alarmed, so it’s probably nothing._

Murdered chicken. Susan shook her head with a sigh and read on.

  1. _04\. 1965_



_Just saw something from the gallery. Something hulking and slithering made its way from the water, up the cliff, and towards the village. Didn’t dare to go after it, its mere presence filled me with dread._

_Later: Went into the village in the morning, everything’s fine. Must have been my imagination._

There! He had seen the thing too! Then there were a few entries about stuff he’d noticed that didn’t add up. Then:

_There is something wrong with this place. I don’t know who to trust, and the contract is keeping me from telling anyone. May the Lord have mercy on my soul, I made a contract with the devil. I can’t leave the lighthouse for extended periods of time, something always draws me back. I’m doomed to live out the rest of my days among these monstrosities. I can only hope that whoever would become the next Keeper will find this journal before signing the contract. If you’re reading this, save yourself. Leave this wretched place immediately before they bind you. Please, please believe me. Save your soul._

Susan closed the journal, feeling sick. It looked like it was too late for her since she had already signed the contract. And whenever she went to the village for a prolonged time, she always did feel the pull back to the lighthouse, and really happy and relieved whenever she entered it. It felt more like home to her than any other place she had ever lived in, and she had relished in this feeling. But now it seemed that this was only due to some sort of supernatural manipulation?

What to do? Who could she trust? Maybe McCallum knew. He was still alive, wasn’t he? If he was, Susan decided, she’d find him.

…

McCallum was, indeed, alive. He lived in a nursing home near Brighton, basically on the other end of Britain. It had needed all her conviction to get on the train, something within her had rebelled at the very thought of leaving. The bad feeling in her stomach got worse the farther the train sped away from Budlemere. Unable to read or sleep, Susan resigned herself to staring out of the window and watch the dismal November landscape fly by.

She found the nursery home without any trouble and asked the receptionist to see one Hamish McCallum.

The receptionist’s friendly, open face grew sad. “Poor Mister McCallum. He’s in a bad way, severe dementia. Utterly delusional, please don’t expect much.” she sighed, “But please do go visit him, if he wants to see you, he never gets any visitors, and he doesn’t get along with the other residents all that well, so he’s very lonely.”

Feeling a bit apprehensive, she followed a nurse to McCallum’s room. He must have been quite tall and strong once, Susan thought when she saw him sitting in an armchair with a newspaper, but now he was frail looking and shrunken in the way people tend to shrink with age. His white hair was short but unkempt, standing in odd angles from his head. A scraggly white beard covered the lower half of his face. But his eyes seemed clear and focussed as he turned towards her expectantly.

“Good morning, Mister McCallum” Susan started awkwardly, “I’m Susan Phelbs. I’m...the new lighthouse keeper of Budlemere.”

McCallum’s face crumbled in dismay. “No. No no no no no! It’s too late for you, isn’t it? You signed the contract!” his voice was thin and reedy, and full of pain. “You’re doomed. There is no way out!” he exclaimed, and his eyes lost focus and seemed to stare at a point far away. “No way out. _The lighthouse must have a keeper_.” Then he was silent and didn’t turn back to her, obviously lost in terrifying memories.

“Mister McCallum,” Susan tried again, “I need your help.”

“There is no help!” McCallum suddenly shouted, eyes wide and crazed looking, “There was no help for me! There will be no help for you!” He was agitated and breathing heavily; then through visible effort he calmed. “The light will keep you safe. They cannae go near the light.”

“The lightroom, yes? The lightroom of the lighthouse?” Susan asked.

McCallum nodded. “The forces of evil cannae go near the light. But they are everywhere. Everywhere in that wretched place!”

Forces of evil, Susan thought, a week ago I would have laughed. “Is there anyone I can trust? Anyone not evil? Constable Kaur perhaps?”

“No! Not her. She took up with Molly as soon as she arrived, heathen that she is. She won’t do anything to help you.” He was silent for a while. “Jamie is a good lad, though, he’s one of us. Normal. If anyone, you can trust him. But you won’t be able to tell him, you can’t tell anyone. The contract will make sure you don’t. Couldn’t warn him, couldn’t warn the girls...”

Susan nodded. It was good to know that Jamie and the girls weren’t part of the whole horrible thing, but that she wouldn’t be able to warn them? That was horrible. “But you can tell me about these things.”

“That’s because I’m no longer bound by the contract. I can tell anyone I want, not that they ever believe a single word,” McCallum griped bitterly.

How horrible. To be forced to watch helplessly as people you care about ran into danger...silently she promised to herself to keep her family as far away from this place as possible.

“Lass?” McCallum interrupted her train of thought. “Don’t forget the light,” he said, then leaned back, and Susan watched him drown in the sea of his memories again, this time for good. “The light,” he kept mumbling, “The light…”

Susan whispered a quiet goodbye that went unnoticed and left the room. Two people had, completely independently and decades apart had the same experiences. So it was rather unlikely that they were just going crazy.

On her way back she stared out of the window again - but this time her thoughts were racing. There had to be evidence. Who would keep files concerning the physical oddities of the villagers around? The doctor. There was something fishy about him, in more than one way, and Susan already had an excuse to pay him a visit; he had offered to do a check-up. The thought of having to do that made her skin crawl, but there was nothing for it. If she wanted to get to the bottom of all this, it had to be done.

Arriving back at the lighthouse took her breath away, and she collapsed against the door, sobbing in relief, at the same time resenting the feeling, since it wasn’t actually hers, wasn’t it? It was just that bloody contract playing with her head. What kind of monster would do such a thing to another person?

Mister Spriggles crawled into her lap, purring at her.

“Thanks, mate,” Susan rasped and buried her fingers in his soft fur.

A sudden knock startled both woman and cat - it wasn’t possible, wasn’t it? They couldn’t know where she’d gone, right? They couldn’t know who she’d been visiting today, could they? Full of trepidation Susan got off the floor and cautiously opened the door, ready to race up the stairs to the lightroom, if need be.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she came face to fuzzy jumper with Jamie.

“Hello, Susan! I’m glad I caught you this time. There is a colony of grey seals on an island nearby - we could take out the boat tomorrow and go see them?” he asked, then blinked, and his smiling face clouded over with worry. “Are you alright? You look a bit peaky.”

Even if she wanted to, Susan thought, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell Jamie. And she didn’t want to because that might put his sisters in danger. She stepped away from the door. “Just a bit under the weather today, I suppose. Want to come in for a cuppa?”

“Yes, that would be lovely. Been walking the shore since noon, and it’s a bit brisk out,” Jamie replied, stepping inside and shedding his jacket. “Hello Mister Spriggles, I hope you are having a most excellent day,” he greeted her cat.

Smiling at Jamie’s antics, Susan led the way up to the kitchen level. “Found anything interesting?”

“No,” Jamie sighed, dropping into a chair, “which is unusual, with the weather we’ve been having. Autumn storms usually wash up lots of stuff. But I was just checking the cliffs, see if the sea has washed out a lot of land. That can be dangerous, a huge chunk just dropping into the sea without warning. But everything’s looking fine.”

Susan poured boiling water into the bulbous teapot, her gaze wandering along the ridiculous floral pattern. “That’s good,” she offered.

Jamie hummed in agreement. He had a smile on his face, and his eyes were closed; he looked a bit like Mister Spriggles when he lay in a sunny spot, soaking up warmth, Susan thought, as she filled two cups with tea. “So, what are the seals doing on that island?” she asked.

“Raising pups. They come every year around this time,” Jamie replied with a grin, accepting the cup Susan handed him.

Who would be able to resist that? “There will be seal babies?”

“Yes, there will be seal babies,” Jamie nodded and took a sip of his tea. “Oh, that’s lovely, thank you. I can feel myself thawing out.”

Susan sat as well, blowing over her tea to cool it. She needed something nice and cute right now, and maybe she could sound out Jamie regarding the inhabitants of Budlemere. Even if he didn’t know about their peculiarities, he might be familiar with their habits.

“So, will you come?” Jamie asked, his expression hopeful.

Susan nodded. “Yes, I’d love to. When are you planning to leave?”

“Just be at the pier around ten. I’m helping old Lumley to prepare the boats for the winter months anyway, so we can leave whenever you’re ready. Don’t worry about food; Martha usually packs something for me, and usually far too much,” he chuckled and proceeded to tell her about the latest exploits of his sisters. Mister Spriggles curled up in her lap and purred up a storm, and Susan slowly finished her cup of tea, a semblance of peace returning to her mind. There were some good things in this horrible place.

…

  


It was still foggy when Susan made her way to the peer which was situated in a little cove below Cliff House. The sound of the waves and the occasional cries of the gulls were muffled, and she could barely make out the strange shape of the manor on top of the cliff. As she drew closer to her goal, she could make out the dark shapes of a few boatsheds and not much else, most boats were already stowed away for the winter, only Mister Lumley’s fishing boat and Jamie’s small motorboat remained operational.

Lumley grunted a greeting at her which, due to the heavy local accent and some speech-impediment or another, Susan couldn’t make heads or tails of. So, as usual, she just waved a cheery greeting at him.

She found Jamie getting his boat ready, checking the oil and refilling the tank. “Morning!” she called out, her voice a bit muffled by a thick scarf that almost covered the lower half of her face.

Jamie looked up from his task and waved at her. “Ah, Susan, good morning! Ready to go?” He screwed the lid back on the canister and got up, holding a hand out to her.

Gripping the proffered hand tightly, Susan carefully stepped into the boat. “Yes, can’t wait, actually. How long will it take to get there?”

Jamie untied the ropes and started the motor. “Half an hour, maybe. It’s not that far.”

Susan settled on the bench facing Jamie. “Will we even see them in this fog?”

Steering the boat away from the pier, Jamie raised his voice above the noise of the motor. “It’ll lift in a bit, the weather is supposed to be quite fair today. If you’re cold, you’ll find hot tea and blankets behind you. And food, in case you get hungry later, Martha made sandwiches.”

“Thanks!” Susan replied, but since she was still quite comfortable, she was content to just sit there and watch the receding coastline, trying to keep a lid on her apprehension. The dismal feeling that set in whenever she distanced herself from her lighthouse was bound to set in soon. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be bad enough to spoil what was looking to be a lovely day.

“So where were you off to yesterday?” Jamie asked as they swerved a set of tiny islands close to Budlemere.

Susan shrugged. “Just tying off some loose ends,” she replied, noncommittally. She didn’t want to even think about it.

Jamie shot her a confused look, and Susan shrugged apologetically, feeling a bit guilty. She wasn’t usually a secretive person, so her sudden reticence must have thrown Jamie for a loop. But she couldn’t tell him, could she, even if she wanted to. “I’m sorry, it was just an unpleasant business all around. I just want to forget about it,” she added somewhat truthfully.

“All right, I do understand that. I feel the same when the authorities question my ability to take care of and homeschool my sisters,” he shook his head. “They’d have kittens, if they knew I’m fine with them playing on the gallery of your lighthouse, supervised or not,” he hesitated. “There is no need to tell them that, is there?”

Susan giggled. “Certainly not. I’d be complicit and end up charged with endangering minors. Your secret is safe with me.”

Jamie chuckled, shaking his head. “Bureaucrats. No concept of different might be all right too.”

“Oh yes. Imagine your family…” Susan let the sentence hang, she had not meant to say that. Jamie had other things to think about than her whinging.

Jamie wasn’t deterred. “What about them?”

“They still haven’t forgiven me for throwing away my life and my career, as they call it. Why can’t they just accept that this is what makes me happy? I don’t _need_ a lot of money. I don’t _need_ to be the boss of people,” Susan replied, rubbing her face with both hands in exasperation.

Jamie thought for a moment. “Maybe they look at the things that make them happy and want you to have them too? Maybe they can’t imagine that you need different things. It doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”

“I know,” Susan groaned, “It just makes things needlessly complicated. And frustrating.”

Not to mention that they were right. Coming to live in Budlemere _had_ turned out to be a mistake - even if it wasn’t for the reason they thought. According to Mister McCallum, horrible things went on in this place, and even if Susan _might_ be able to convince Atwood to let her go (since he didn’t know that she knew anything) she couldn’t very well have another person suffer in her stead. Any way she looked at the problem, she lost.

Jamie left her to her thoughts and continued to steer the boat through the thinning fog, until an island appeared in front of them, still somewhat shrouded, but Susan could make out the dark shapes of seals grunting morning conversations bobbing around on the rocky beach. Cutting the engine and dropping anchor, Jamie sent a quick grin her way. “Here we are.”

“We’re not disturbing them?” Susan asked, not wanting to get in trouble with anyone.

“No, we’re far off enough, they aren’t that easily disturbed anyway. Old Lumley hates them, claims they’re eating all his fish. Which is utter rubbish, of course. Here, have a look,” he replied, handing Susan his binoculars.

She looked, not able to suppress a big grin. The seals were adorable on land, heaving themselves here and there, the young ones prodding their parents, and the old ones moaning about being bugged by their pups. One by one the adults made their way into the icy water, leaving the land-bound pups behind.

“Oh dear.”

That was the only warning Susan got before the boat started rocking violently. She dropped the binoculars to hang around her neck and quickly tried to help Jamie balance the little boat as one of the seals made its way inside.

Susan just sat there and stared as the boat stopped heaving. “What the…”

“Oh, they do that,” Jamie shrugged, “Perhaps there’s a predator nearby. Or he got tired and needs to rest, he’s still little. Eh, no, no! Please don’t do that.” The last part was addressed to the seal that tried to crawl on top of him. “I’m warm, and I smell of fish because I helped Lumley this morning. They really like both things…”

Laughing at the absurd situation, Susan joked, “Who doesn’t?” and proceeded to take pictures with her phone.

Jamie gave up and sighed as about one hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and blubber settled in his lap with a content huff. “Hand me some tea, please? I seem to be occupied territory at the moment.”

“Sure,” Susan replied, hunting for the thermos in the huge lunch-bag that Martha had packed. “Here you go,” handing him one of the two cups she poured.

The seal lifted its head and, curious as it was, snuffled at the interestingly smelling cup, before deciding that this wasn’t anything fish-related and thus boring. Closing its eyes, it fell into a light doze.

“They aren’t shy at all, aren’t they?” Susan asked.

“Not really, no. They’re too big for most land predators, and only fear sharks and orcas in the water. Humans don’t really register as threats, which led to the seal populations being over-hunted in the past. Because it’s just so ridiculously easy to kill them, especially the pups that haven’t shed yet and can’t escape into the water.” Jamie replied, running his hands over the smooth, wet fur of the seal. “He’s a bit thin, but not worryingly so. Should be okay once he’s rested a bit.”

Susan just sipped her tea and smiled. His never-ending concern and affection for all marine creatures was one of the things she found most endearing about Jamie. No matter if cute seal pup or weirdly shaped mollusc, he loved them all equally.

Getting hungry, Susan dug through the pack for a sandwich, offering one to Jamie too, but he shook his head with a rueful grin. “No, thank you. I’d just have to defend it. I’ll eat when our guest has left.”

Susan nodded and dug in. How surreal - here she was, munching on a delicious sandwich, drinking hot tea in a boat near an island full of seals, watching her friend cuddle one of them. And just yesterday she had talked to the old keeper, who had confirmed her suspicions that there was something very, very wrong with Budlemere. It was so peaceful here, how could one _not_ fall in love with this place immediately? But beneath that serene facade lurked an unspeakable darkness, a darkness that had driven poor McCallum around the bend in the end. Sure, he wasn’t delusional, but that didn’t mean he was still sane.

And Jamie? He had lived here for years, how could he not have noticed anything? Well, he didn’t get out much. As far as Susan could tell, he only spoke to old Lumley occasionally, and he never featured in village gossip either. If nothing else she had to make sure that he and his sisters were safe.

“They’ll come around,” the object of her contemplation quietly interrupted her thoughts.

Susan looked up, startled. “Huh?”

Jamie shifted beneath the heavy animal, trying to get somewhat comfortable.“Your family. You had this far-off look on your face just now, you were thinking about them, yes?”

“Oh, yes,” she lied, immediately feeling horrible about it, “I hope they’ll come around.”

“Perhaps you could invite them, show them around? Seeing you here, happy and content, might change their minds?” he suggested, wriggling around and gently prodding at the seal to get it to wake up.

Oh hell no. Absolutely out of the question - she would _not_ endanger her family by bringing them to Budlemere. Biting her lip, Susan shook her head. Being at odds with her family was turning out to be a good thing, she thought morosely. “On principle, it’s a good idea, but you don’t know my family.”

The fog had cleared completely by now, and the sun had come out. The seal blinked sleepily and snuffle-grunted in protest of Jamie’s attempts to wake him, but Jamie was unrelenting. “You had a very nice nap, now off with you. Go get someone else to cuddle with. Shoo.”

The seal was dramatically reluctant to leave the boat, complaining pitifully about being robbed of his new favourite resting place, but eventually slipped back into the water, leaving Susan and Jamie to try and calm the rocking boat.

Jamie shivered. “Pass me a blanket, please? Silly beast got me all wet.”

Susan handed him one of the heavy wool blankets, a sandwich, and refilled his cup. “That was funny. The seals that lived around my grandfather’s lighthouse never did that.”

“Where was that?” Jamie asked around a bite.

“On the Suffolk coast, near Orford,” Susan replied, wrapping a blanket around herself too; she could feel the moisture of the weather, and the brisk, cold wind creeping into her bones.

Jamie huddled deeper in his blanket. “Ah, you’ll probably have had harbour seals down there, they’re a bit more cautious about human presence. Grey seals are more curious.”

“Are you alright? Maybe we should head back, your clothes are wet, you might get sick?” Even though the weather was good, it _was_ November.

Jamie shook his head, waving off her concern. “I’ll be fine, I never get sick.”

Susan rolled her eyes at the typically male posturing but didn’t argue. Bringing the binoculars back up to her face, she watched the seal colony again, wishing that her life was that simple.

When they got back to the pier below Cliff House, Susan was shivering with cold despite blankets and hot tea, so Jamie invited her in to warm up, and Martha lent her a mumu and a fuzzy morning robe while she dried her clothes. There was a little cosy drawing room with a fireplace where Susan and all three Coombs siblings convened and started swapping tales of childhood adventure. And pirates.

Martha passed around cups of hot chocolate laced with chilli, and Susan felt her body warm up in no time, even though she felt quite silly in Martha’s clothes.

This was a really good opportunity to gather information, Susan thought. The siblings had lived in Budlemere for years, they had to know a thing or two about Ibbott, right? But how to get the conversation into that direction? Ah yes… “Hope I didn’t catch a cold”, Susan murmured to herself.

“Even if you did, Doctor Ibbott will set you up with what you need,” Jamie replied with a kind smile. “Brightest man I know. He’s been a tremendous help with my taxidermy solution so far.”

“So he’s good? He wants me to come and have a check-up, but I...don't like doctors,” Susan admitted, waiting for the pitying smile that always followed that particular admission.

But Jamie didn’t smile, just nodded carefully. “We all have things that are hard for us to deal with. For me it’s crowds. But I promise you’re in good hands with our doctor. He’s a truly kind, brilliant man, and my friend. I visit him sometimes.”

Susan thought back to Mr McCallum and shook her head. Jamie was lucky that he was financially independent - he was too naive and kind for this world. “All right, I suppose you’d know.”

The conversation turned back to other things, and Susan just tried to relax and enjoy the moment. It was a bit difficult.

  


…

Susan decided to try other possibilities first; maybe Ibbott could be avoided entirely? Her deep-seated dislike for doctors in general and her fear of what kind of monster Ibbott might be made her shy away from the idea of seeking him out. The archivist, Miss Rivers, had moaned about having to carry heavy loads of paper to the library one evening in the pub, so Susan decided that some good old-fashioned library research time was in order.

The library was in an old building behind the little Norman style church. It was whitewashed, like most buildings in Budlemere, but the style was somewhat more grandiose.

The door opened with an ominous creak. The entrance area was filled with bookshelves and file cases, and one reception desk overflowing with books waiting to be reshelved.

“Hello dear, can I help you?” A middle-aged, rotund woman dressed in a frilly blouse and a skirt came in through a side door, carrying even more books under her arm. “I was just repairing these; sometimes people aren’t very careful with them. I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

Susan shook her head. “No, I came in just a moment ago. I’d like to have a look at the local meteorological archives; they’re kept here, aren’t they?”

The librarian nodded. “Yes, they are. The membership is free, but there are late-fees” she added, shooting Susan a pointed look. Do not bring books back late. Roger that. “Give me a minute,” the woman continued in her earlier, friendly manner, “I’ll set up an account for you.”

Susan gave her details, and a few moments (and a couple of creative curses regarding apparently hopelessly outdated software) later, she was now the proud owner of a library card and on her way to the main room.

“The archives are close to the periodicals on the upper level, second door to the right,” the librarian called after her, already busy with dilapidated books again.

As libraries went, this one was rather grandiose and seemed a bit overstated for a small place like Budlemere. There was a huge stained glass window that went over both levels of the main room, and it reminded Susan a bit of the ones in Cliff House, with the abstract imagery and the colour scheme of green and yellow. Huge, intricately carved wooden pillars supported the equally beautiful ceiling; a closer look had her notice that the roots were still attached to the beams forming said pillars and had been polished and integrated into the ceiling’s design. The floor of the second level was just a ring around the room reaching from the walls to the six pillars, leaving some space in the middle. There were many windows on the outer wall, and a desk was placed beneath every other, inviting the visitor to stay and study. Susan also noticed a fair number of potted plants, which made sense, she guessed, since too dry air wasn’t good for the books.

Since the librarian had retreated to her office again, Susan was free to explore the place. Withstanding the urge to check the fiction shelves (she noticed that a great deal of space was devoted to speculative fiction), she made her way upstairs to the upper level, to where all the archives were located. Armed with McCallum’s diary, she chose one of the desks facing the windows and started cross-referencing the dates when he had recorded something notable happening. It felt strange to sit and do research in a library again; the last time she’d seen one from the inside must have been during her university days. Susan found that she had missed this too, the solitude, the quiet only disturbed by the whisper of turned pages.

Completely absorbed in her work, Susan jumped about a mile high when the librarian put a hand on her shoulder. “ I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m closing for the day, dear, perhaps you can come back to finish tomorrow?”

Susan needed a moment to try and get her heart rate back down before replying, “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll just tidy up. I had no idea it’s so late already.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll put everything away. You go on and hurry home, you haven’t eaten since this morning,” the librarian waved her off.

The next morning saw her coming back, but this time the counter was staffed by a man who strongly resembled the woman she’d met here yesterday. Perhaps they were siblings? After a bit of chitchat Susan went back to her research but soon had to admit defeat.

The Budlemere conspiracy ran deep indeed. Nothing she could find in the archives corroborated what McCallum and she had seen and experienced.

It didn’t help that now that she was attuned to it, she kept noticing new, frightening things. Jamie had been right; the way along the coast was treacherous in the dark. But not because it was hard to walk, but because the landmarks kept shifting around. Rock formations that were on the right side of the path when walking to Cliff House were on the right side again when Susan walked back. Tree roots suddenly made her stumble where the path had been smooth just hours before. At first, Susan had doubted her senses, just because there was something wrong with Budlemere didn’t mean that every shadow hid an eldritch horror, but she had made notes on multiple occasions as to where things were and it turned out she wasn’t mistaken.

Feeling less and less like socialising, Susan nonetheless kept up with the bi-weekly meetings in the pub. They supplied her with community gossip that might yield new information, and if she suddenly turned into a recluse the inhabitants of Budlemere would smell a rat immediately. But for a bunch of irredeemable gossips, the townsfolk in the pub was entirely close-lipped when it came to anything connected to their otherworldly nature.

But other than before, Susan now noticed the meaningful glances and the twitches of someone being kicked under the table when they were about to let something slip. It made her visits in the pub tense and exhausting instead of enjoyable and relaxing, and she felt herself slip into a zombie-like state on her way home most days.

So she almost didn’t notice the van parked in front of the doctor’s office, and the shadow of movement nearby.

Silently Susan crept closer using few low shrubs as cover until she was able to make out what was going on. It was Tom, the nice youngster who had helped her move, carver of pumpkins and son of Rose, the seemingly omniscient shopkeeper.

And he was carrying what looked like a body in a black body-bag to somewhere behind Doctor Ibbott’s house.

Molly’s cod and chips turned unpleasantly in Susan’s stomach. Did Ibbot kill people? Or did he just dispose of the victims of a murderous Budlemerian or five?

It didn't matter.

What very much did was that there were corpses, that people were being killed, and that other people might very well be in grave danger. And it seemed like Susan was the only one who could do anything about it.

Her whole body trembling, she slowly stumbled through the rising fog towards the lighthouse. It seemed so hopeless; how could one failed economist hope to succeed where a World War 2 veteran in his prime had failed miserably, had lost any happiness he might have had, and paid with his very sanity?

Susan crawled beneath her duvet still in her sheets with Mister Spriggles in her arms, who stoically suffered her crying into his fur.

…

  


There was nothing for it - Susan had to go and get a physical. The thought of throwing herself at Dr Ibbott’s mercy made her shudder, but there seemed to be no other way of scouting out the building without arousing suspicion. The receptionist was pretty, blonde, and bubbly; a thoroughly pleasant person. A bit like the lure of an anglerfish, Susan thought sarcastically, enticing the prey into the jaws of a predator.

She hadn’t really talked to Ibbott before; apart from the occasional greeting or friendly wave when he passed by the lighthouse for his daily morning swim in the sea. Even now, in late November he hadn’t stopped yet. Perhaps his particular variant of inhumanity rendered him immune to the cold?

She took a seat in the waiting area, trying to concentrate on the novel she’d brought. Not that the content really mattered; she just wanted to look reasonably relaxed while watching the goings-on from the corner of her eye.

The layout was rather straightforward, the house itself was rather old, but a few walls had been taken out to connect reception, corridor and waiting area. Impossible to hide anything on this level. That left Ibbott’s flat above, but Jamie had talked about visiting him, hadn't he? He was a bit on the naive side of things, but he was pretty observant. If there was anything going on above, he’d have noticed.

That left the cellar, didn’t it? As far as Susan could tell, there was no staircase within the building, Ibbott’s flat could only be reached from the outside. Perhaps the entrance was somewhere outside too? Did the building even _have_ a cellar? It wasn’t as if she could just ask…

The receptionist called her into Ibbott’s office, and Susan felt a certain amount of trepidation as she entered.

Ibbott got up to shake her hand, a friendly smile on his walrus-like face. “Miss Phelbs, hello. Finally found your way to me, have you? Splendid.”

Ibbott’s grip was a bit cool and clammy which made Susan shudder a little. “Hello.”

The visit went as any other visit to the doctor’s went; mostly just answering questions about her medical history, nothing at all unusual, until Ibbott excused himself to get the sphygmomanometer from the lab-room. Susan took the opportunity to get up from her chair and lean forwards to glance at the things on his desk - a couple of files she wouldn’t be able to do anything with because of the medical coding, some advertising from pharmaceutical corporations. And a post-it note, which Susan had a bit trouble reading upside-down, but eventually she managed to make out the words “adjust oxygen levels downstairs”.

Downstairs. So there was a cellar.

Susan quickly dropped back into her chair when she heard the door open.

“There it is, Left it in the lab. Now let’s see how your blood pressure is…” Ibbott mumbled as he bustled back into the room. “Please free your arm for me?”

Susan did as he had asked. If she didn’t know for sure that there was something monstrous about him - he was quite capable and friendly. Under normal circumstances, she would have been elated to find a physician like him. What was it he did, _downstairs_?

…

Borrowing a pair of binoculars from Jamie had been easy; finding a hiding-spot? Not so much. Close to the graveyard next to Ibbott’s garden was a bit of shrubbery which was easy to sneak into. Susan had brought a collapsible stool she could sit on, hoping that nobody would spot her, lurking in the dark, spying on the doctor’s house. But it had gotten dark already, and there was still light in the office. Susan made herself as comfortable as she could be and waited.

There! The lights went out, and a little while later Ibbott closed and locked the door, making his way to the back of the house. Susan had looked as best as she could, but the house seemed to have no other entrances. There was a little rift right next to the wall she was looking at, where a little wellspring emptied itself into the earth - the only possible location for a secret entrance.

A little while later, the doctor reemerged and stopped near the rift. He reached into a gap among a pile of decorative rocks, and a staircase presented itself, blocking the water until he was through a door likewise uncovered.

So that was how one accessed the cellar.

Susan shivered in her hiding place, half from the cold, half from excitement. She was close, so close to finding proof.

Ibbott didn’t stay downstairs long; soon enough he came back up and closed the secret stairway. Susan waited for a couple of moments until she was sure that he wouldn’t come back, then walked over to the pile of rocks and hunted for the switch.

There, a little lever. Susan pulled it and carefully walked down the stairs to the rather unassuming door that blended with the wall rather well. Reaching for the handle, she swallowed thickly.

This was it. What kind of horrors was she about to discover? What if there was something down there that would kill her? Grab her and rip her to shreds, or start eating her while she was still alive? Susan’s breath came in shuddering bursts. Nobody would ever know, and Budlemere would go on as it always had, horrors festering away under its placid exterior.

But what if there was something she could do? What if she actually could prevent something terrible from happening? Could she take that risk? Leave the world to its fate?

No, she couldn’t, Susan decided and opened the door.The lights flickered on automatically, and Susan took a step inside, looking around.

A laboratory. Well, this was somewhat along the lines of what she had expected. There was a stainless steel table in the centre of the room, nothing on it except a pair of reading glasses, several cupboards and shelves, but most of the walls were lined with cylindrical glass tubes containing...bodies. Human bodies suspended in a green-yellow liquid resembling the bile one spat up when vomiting with an empty stomach.

Susan covered her mouth to keep in a frightened sob. Would she end up here one day? Or very soon, if she was caught? Better not to lose any time.

Quickly she pulled out her mobile and started to snap pictures. That should do the trick, she thought. That should help put an end to this. She walked around until she noticed that the corpses’ eyes _were following her_. Were they still alive? They didn’t move, otherwise, it was just their eyes. What exactly was going on here? Did Ibbott try to make...Zombies? Reanimate the dead?

“Oh dear,” someone sighed behind her.

Susan whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it. She was going to die.

Doctor Ibbott stepped into the room, dressed in pyjamas, a morning robe, and slippers, shaking his head. “You really weren’t supposed to find this. How did you find out? We were very careful.”

Susan slowly slipped her phone into her pocket; maybe he hadn’t seen it. “Does that matter?”

Ibbott’s shoulders slumped. “I know what this looks like, but I swear, there is a reasonable explanation.”

“What could possibly explain this? Those are corpses. Dead people! I saw Tom Helby carrying one in a couple of nights ago,” Susan replied, a hysterical edge to her voice. She needed to get out somehow, figure out where to send her evidence. It wasn’t as if she could just take it to the nearest police officer, right? Constable Kaur was in cahoots with them.

“Please calm down, Miss Phelbs. I can explain. Honestly,” Ibbott pleaded with her.

As if. Susan wasn’t stupid and recognised a trick when she saw one. She was trembling all over, the doctor’s calm, friendly demeanour was so at odds with their gruesome surroundings that it just scared her more instead of reassuring her. “Let me go,” she demanded. Worth trying, right?

Ibbott shook his head and sighed again. “I’m not keeping you, I just came to retrieve my glasses.” He deliberately walked towards the operating table to pick them up, making sure not to block Susan’s exit. “You’re free to go. But I do implore you to listen to what I’ve got to say in my defence. In our defence.”

Susan quickly moved towards the door. “I think I’ve seen and heard all I need to,” she replied over her shoulder and ran for it.

As she crossed the little courtyard with the Budletree, a root shot out of the ground and wrapped itself around her ankle. Susan fell flat on her face and couldn't hold back a yelp, but quickly clapped her hands over her mouth. It wouldn't do to wake the whole place up so they could make her join the poor sods in Ibbott's basement.

Silently she tried to free her foot, constantly looking around to see if someone was coming. Nobody was. The whole place was silent, only the strange whispers of the Budletree could be heard.

Then suddenly, as quickly as it had shot out of the ground the root disappeared into the ground again. Climbing to her feet still shaking with nerves, Susan hurried on to the lighthouse.

She tried to call Jamie on her mobile, but something blocked her reception. Dammit, she thought, how was she supposed to get the pictures she’d taken to where they needed to be?

Breathing hard, her lungs hurting from rapidly breathing the cold night air, she arrived at the lighthouse and ran inside and upstairs. She had to let Jamie know. Everyone knew they were close, they might try to hurt him or his sisters. Digging through the debris on the desk she managed to unearth the landline phone she never used but was now very glad to still have. The few moments the phone rang on the other end seemed like an eternity to her, but finally, a very sleepy sounding Jamie Coombs picked up the receiver.

“This is Susan, please don’t ask any questions, just get your sisters and come here as soon as you can. You’re not safe where you are,” she hurriedly told him.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, until Jamie replied, “All right. I’ll be there soon.”

They hung up and Susan ran upstairs, checking the light. McCallum had told her that she would be safe there. She could only hope that he was right.

Grabbing the borrowed binoculars, Susan stepped outside on the gallery, watching for the siblings’ arrival - or less benevolent individuals coming up from the village. After a while, a dark shape appeared from between the trees spreading out from Cliff House, a gangly figure she quickly recognised as her friend. But he was alone, why was he alone? Did they have the girls already? Did they move that fast? Worried, she ran back down the stairs and opened the door just as he arrived.

“Jamie,” Susan breathed, grabbing his hand, drawing him inside. “Where are the girls?”

“At home and quite safe. Susan, there is nothing to worry about,” he replied with a comforting smile.

Tugging harder at his hand, Susan pulled him along. “No. You don’t understand! There is something terribly wrong. Ibbott has corpses in his basement, Jamie, corpses!” she was starting to hyperventilate again in panic. “And Rose is doing things with this...thing! It’s horrible! I’ve spoken to McCallum, and he said it’s the whole village. But he also said that we’d be safe in the lightroom. So that’s where we’re going. Then we’ll call Martha to bring your sisters.”

Jamie stopped her at the bottom of the final staircase. “But I can’t, Susan. I can’t go with you. This...is as far as I may.”

“What? Of course you can. You’re not one of them! You’re not from Budlemere,” Susan argued.

“But I am. Or at least my father was,” Jamie replied calmly.

Susan shrank away from him as far as she could with him still gripping her hand in his. _Nothing had kept her from telling him what she’d seen._ Her eyes started to prickle, and she could feel her throat close up. The pain blindsided her; Jamie, the one she liked so much, the one she had trusted blindly... “I thought you were my friend,” she half-sobbed.

Jamie sighed, one part sadness, two parts annoyance. “I _am_ your friend, Susan. Go on, go up the stairs, if it makes you feel safer. I’m going to explain everything to you, and I hope you’ll listen. As my _friend_ , you owe me that much, don’t you think?” he bit out, letting go of her hand.

Susan shot up the stairs, but, after a moment’s deliberation, settled on the topmost one. “All right. Tell me,” she said her heart still beating as if it was trying to escape her chest. “I’ll listen.”

Jamie nodded and sat down at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at her. “Thank you, Susan. That is more than McCallum was ever willing to do, or so I’m told, the cranky old codger. Right. Budlemere was founded by an ancestor of mine Jebediah Coombs, a pirate, well, privateer under the rule of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the First. The land in and around the village was gifted to him and his descendants for his service to the Crown when he retired. Now, during his voyages, he had come across many interesting things, one of them a book containing information on other spiritual planes. He spent the remainder of his life trying to open a portal.”

“Did he succeed?” Susan asked, shifting on her stair.

“He did. Budlemere is on a Leyline, and close to an abandoned City of the Deep Ones. And the being that came through decided to stay, since it wanted to construct something more permanent, as there had been in the past. Most Others who had once settled here on Earth have died out, only some of the Deep Ones remain.” Jamie looked up at Susan. “The Deep Ones are amphibious inhabitants of the ocean. Most people of Budlemere share some of their ancestry, and it shows a bit, especially as they get older.”

“Like Ibbott,” Susan said. So the costume at Halloween hadn’t been a costume at all.

Jamie nodded, “Like Ibbott, yes. Decent bloke, and my friend, as I already told you. Don’t judge him too harshly. Anyway, so the being from that other dimension married Jebediah’s daughter, and their descendants all worked towards making the connection more stable. Eventually, the lighthouse was built, a steady beacon showing the way to our world. More beings came over, some just visiting, curious about this place, some staying.”

Susan was more than a little horrified. “You mean, this has been going on for centuries?”

“Well, yes,” Jamie shrugged. “And nothing ever happened, at least not really. A couple of unfortunate accidents. See, if we wanted to take over the world, we could. But we don’t. We don’t want to do anyone any harm, just to live in peace.”

“Oh really. And the corpses in Ibbott’s basement?” Susan asked sarcastically.

“Were all people who died of natural causes and donated their bodies to science. See, some of the Others can only send their spirits over. They need a body to walk around in. Well, until now that has always been one of the people who live here, usually Mister Lumley. You met him, yes? You’ll have noticed that letting the Others drive around in your body has some long-term consequences. So Ibbott and I have been working on an alternative,” Jamie explained.

“Oh!” Susan exclaimed, suddenly understanding, “That’s why you’re trying to make that silicon-based fluid to preserve things in a way that leaves them soft and squishy. It’s so the corpses don’t dry out and go stiff.”

“And it would do something about the smell as well,” Jamie added with a wry grin. “But yes, that’s the goal. Ibbott has been partially successful in restarting parts of the limbic system, that’s why their eyes follow you around the room. Bit creepy that, no?”

“Yeah. Just a bit,” Susan said drily. “And the thing and Rose?”

Jamie chuckled. “Bernie. A Shoggoth, so he’d be a bit conspicuous during the day. Most of us can hide their little peculiarities rather well, but he? He’s hopeless, poor guy.”

Bernie. The hulking mass of tentacles and eyes was a _Bernie_. After the day she was having, Susan wasn’t even surprised. “Peculiarities? Like what?”

Jamie shrugged. “Atwood has eyes everywhere. You saw them this Halloween, yes? Then there are people with gills or nictitating membranes. Scales, webbed fingers and toes…”

“And you?” Susan interrupted him. “Will you show me?”

Jamie got his typical deer in headlights look that Susan found endearing. “If you want?” he replied uncertainly. “But please try not to be afraid?”

What was he hiding under those shapeless jumpers, Susan wondered. Couldn’t be that bad? “Yes, please. I’ll try, I promise.”

“All right.” Jamie got up and unceremoniously pulled off his jumper and shirt. Torso bare, he turned towards Susan, his arms spread out. Several (six?) dark green tentacles, attached somewhere on his back, uncoiled from around his arms and torso, languidly waving through the air as if it was water. A set of slits ran down each side of Jamie’s lower chest.

Susan was speechless for a moment. She had always assumed that he was a little pudgy around the middle, but in fact, he was very much not. Under his baggy clothes (and the tentacles) he had the rangy built of a swimmer. “Are those gills?” Susan asked, pointing at the slits.

“Those? Yes. Really helpful when I’m out in the water, exploring.” All his limbs drooped simultaneously. “Come down, please? I swear, nobody in this village means you or anyone else any harm. We may be a bit...different, but we’re not bad people.”

Susan was stricken. Jamie’s explanation made as much sense as anything ever did in Budlemere, and she was very aware that he’d had plenty of opportunities to harm her if that was what he really wanted. Just as Ibbott could have, but let her go. They hadn’t done anything to old McCallum, even though he hated their guts. Instead, they had been friendly and welcoming, always trying to make her feel comfortable and at ease. If what Jamie had said was true, and so far he had never given her any reason to doubt him, then the only crime the people of Budlemere were guilty of was being different and trying to protect themselves. Constable Kaur was a regular human being, and she had been happily living among them for years. If the Constable could do it, Susan thought, then maybe so could she.

Decision made, she got up and slowly walked down the stairs to Jamie, who just stood there, passively and unmoving, as if not to spook her. “Can I?” she asked, reaching out to one of his tentacles. It moved towards her, gliding over her hand, smooth and surprisingly dry to the touch, and wrapped loosely around her wrist. Susan ran her fingers over it. “It seems so delicate, aren’t they easily hurt? Should I be careful with them?”

“Not particularly, no. Besides, they grow back,” Jamie replied quietly, his face grim, and Susan took a step back, her mind jumping through horrible possible scenarios that would have made him find out for certain.

“I grew up among regular humans, so when I was younger I only wanted to be normal. So I…” Jamie let the sentence trail off, but Susan understood what he meant.

Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Oh dear God, Jamie…” He had done that to himself. Perhaps repeatedly.

Jamie averted his eyes and swallowed thickly. “That’s why I moved the girls here, I never wanted them to feel as if they had to be anything else than what they are.”

Swallowing back tears, Susan walked up to him and, somewhat awkwardly weaving her hands through his extra appendages, pulled him into a tight hug. Jamie hesitated for a moment, then wrapped his arms (all eight of them) around her, hugging her back.

“So, a pirate ancestor, huh?” she mumbled into Jamie’s shoulder to lighten the mood, “That explains a few things.”


End file.
